A Hogwarts Reunion
by SnarkyFanGirl
Summary: Rated for mild language and adult situations. It's been 5 years since Harry Potter & Co. graduated from Hogwarts, and a Reunion looms on the horizon. Join the party and find out what's stayed the same, and what's changed!
1. Prologue

**A Hogwarts Reunion **

**Prologue**

_Dear Hogwarts Alumni:_

_You are hereby invited to attend a Reunion party at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the 31st of October. Please wear a disguise, as it will be a costume party. The festivities, which include dancing, bobbing for apples, and a contest for the best costume, will begin promptly at 8:00 p.m. in the Great Hall. You may bring one guest with you._

_We look forward to seeing you there._

_Sincerely, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster_

Hermione stared at the letter as though it were a snake about to strike. The owl had just dropped it onto her desk, and she'd opened it without checking to see who'd sent it. She picked it up and reread it, just to be sure that her eyes hadn't deceived her. No, there it was, in black and white, and as plain as the nose on her face. _A reunion dance._ Everyone that had left Hogwarts the same year as she had would be coming back to the school for one night, ready to regale their former fellow students with fantastic tales of what they'd done with their lives. She sighed and went to the window of her small quarters, looking out across the peaceful, frost-covered grounds.

The Halloween Feast would surely be different this year, with all of the returning people. Current Hogwarts students would be forced from the Great Hall because of the Reunion. Hermione didn't like large groups of people; she found it difficult to speak to anything larger than one of her classes, which usually consisted of no more than twenty students at a time. The mere thought of seeing her classmates again, and in such a large group, made her stomach lurch unpleasantly.

How could she face all of their wonderful stories when all she had to tell them was that she'd become the Muggle Studies Professor at Hogwarts four years ago? Her chin dropped to her chest, and she began to chew on her bottom lip. She was so far away from where she'd imagined herself at 22. She was sure she'd been destined for greatness - especially being the best friend of the famous Harry Potter.

Her heart leapt at the thought of Harry.

He'd left for Auror training immediately after he'd finished his last year at Hogwarts, promising to write to she and Ron every day as he'd ridden off into the sunset. Hermione shook her head sadly, then sat down at the dressing table and began to pull her brush through her tangled hair. She hadn't heard from him since that day, and she seriously doubted that anyone else had, either. He was probably too busy trying to round up the last of the Death Eaters. She wondered vaguely if he would find the time to make it to the Reunion.

She and Ron had remained fairly close. They owled frequently, and on occasion he would be able to coerce her into leaving Hogwarts grounds and meeting him for a movie or dinner. She really had to put an effort forth, though, to leave the castle. She had no other friends besides Ron, and she liked it that way. After Harry's defeat of Voldemort, the only people who'd wanted to get close to any of the Trio had been members of the press, or people who wanted their pictures on the front page of the _Daily Prophet._

She sighed and rose from her seat, dressing quickly in her black robes. She flicked her wand and muttered a charm that made her hair twist into a very tight bun at the nape of her neck, then left her private quarters. All the way to the Great Hall, visions of her falling flat on her face on the dance floor flashed through her head.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Harry squinted his eyes against the blinding sun that beat down on him. He pulled his wide-brimmed hat lower and grunted when droplets of sweat made their way down his forehead and stung his eyes. He removed his glasses to wipe the sweat from his brow, and his world went blurry. Glasses back in place, he began to curse silently.

_Damn you, LeStrange!_ he thought vehemently, as the wind flared up and sand pounded against his face. The camel he was riding lurched precariously, and he tightened his grip. _Leave it to her to flee to Egypt, of all places._ He had grown accustomed to the sun, although he'd begun to loathe it with every fiber of his being.

He'd been tracking Bellatrix for nearly four years now. After finishing his Auror training in a record six months, the Ministry had let him loose with orders to bring her back unharmed. He'd tracked her through Russia, where he'd been intercepted by a Vourdalak. The thought made him shudder despite the heat; if Neville had reached him any later, he would have died. He'd spent nearly a week recovering, as it was.

He'd tracked her through America, Canada, Greenland, Argentina, Italy, and Spain - and now her trail had led him here, to Egypt. He'd tried to keep his profile low by traveling as a Muggle, only using magic when necessary, and it seemed to have worked - until yesterday evening. She had been alerted to his presence when a tawny owl had gotten lost trying to find him. He sighed angrily and fingered the crumpled letter in his pocket.

Bellatrix wasn't a complete twit, as easy as she was to track. Even she had realized when she'd seen the owl that it meant only one thing - she was being hunted. He felt a surge of excitement - he was a _hunter_. He was tracking her every move, and he wouldn't rest until she stood before the Wizengamot. He looked forward to sitting in that stuffy room and watching her be escorted away for a second time - only this time, her destination wouldn't be Azkaban. She'd be receiving a kiss from the Dementors instead.

Exhaustion caught up with Harry as he traveled, and he pulled on the reins, making the camel come to a slow halt. He hopped down and pulled out his wand. With a curt flick, two large tents appeared. The camel, having traveled with Harry for a week now, did not seem to be surprised at all, and entered the larger of the two tents. Harry smiled to himself as he heard the camel noisily slurping the cold water that he'd conjured inside the tent. He hadn't looked around before using his wand - there was simply no need. They were in the desert, and no one was around for miles.

He entered the smaller tent and flopped down on the cot inside. Withdrawing the invitation from his pocket, he wondered who'd been the idiot responsible for sending it. Surely Dumbledore, in his great wisdom, knew where Harry was and what he was doing, and would not risk his discovery by sending a silly invitation. No, Harry decided. It could not have been Dumbledore at all. And when he'd found out who'd done it, he was going to give them an earful.

* * *

"Ron, haven't you finished that report _yet?"_ his father asked incredulously. Ron sighed and dropped his quill as his father left the office, muttering under his breath about procrastination. Before he could retrieve the quill, however, a small owl flew through the window and dropped a letter on his desk. He watched, his heart full of envy, as the owl turned and soared out the window.

"Wish I could just fly away," he muttered, breaking the seal on the letter. It was addressed to Ron Weasley, Ministry of Magic, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He groaned; any reminder of his job made him feel wistful and jealous. All he could think about was Harry, and how he must be off having some grand adventure - without Ron and Hermione.

He opened the letter and read it, his eyes growing large. When he had finished, he blinked in surprise. A reunion? A dance? He loosened his collar and gulped, then turned to the only picture that hung on the wall in his office. There, waving and smiling happily, stood himself, Harry, and Hermione. He watched his friend grin and vaguely wondered if Harry would show up for the party. If Ron knew Harry (and he was fairly certain he _did_), he was sure he was off saving the world from evil again. He grinned to himself at that thought. Yes, wherever he was, Harry was surely doing something that kept everyone else safe at night, while endangering his own life.

He glanced at the invitation again and reread it. He could bring one guest - who would he bring? Hermione would be the most logical choice, but another name popped into his head of its own accord.

_Ginny._

He would take her, and perhaps she and Harry could rekindle old flames. He smiled to himself and sat down to begin his letter to Hermione, explaining that he was going to bring Ginny, but _she_ was going to be his date, not his sister. A wicked grin crossed his face.

This reunion thing was sounding better every second.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"You are, without a doubt, the most _dim-witted _students I have _ever_ had the misfortune to teach." His soft drawl had stunned the third years into silence, and they sat at their desks, gaping stupidly at him. He stood and reached for a stack of parchments, slinging them onto the desks of their authors as he passed. When he returned to the front of the classroom, he folded his arms over his chest and glared at them.

_"No one_ in here earned a passing grade." A collective moan went up from the class. It was cut off quickly by an evil smirk from their Professor. Even though it was only weeks into the school year, they knew that Professor Malfoy was not someone to be trifled with.

The bell rang, and the students scrambled to gather their things and get out of his classroom. He sat down and laughed as he reclined in his chair, raising his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. Bits and pieces of conversation drifted in to him from the hallway.

"...meanest git I ever met..."

"He's handsome, but he _is_ mean, isn't he?"

"He's worse than Snape." His eyes flew open at that, and a wicked grin made his lips curl cruelly. So they thought he was worse than Snape, did they? He'd finally achieved his goal, then. When he'd taken on the position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, the first goal he'd had was to surpass Snape in all his notoriety. It appeared that he had finally done just that, and he was pleased.

The noise in the hall gradually faded into silence as the students made their way to their second block of classes. He stood and stretched languidly before returning to his private quarters for the next hour or so. It was his free period, and he knew that no students would come looking for him - they never did. He was too frightening and unapproachable to them, and he liked it that way.

As he lay down on his sinfully comfortable bed, his mind drifted to the invitation he'd received last the week. Who would he take as his date to the impending reunion? Perhaps he wouldn't take anyone at all. After all, there were only two days left until the reunion, and that didn't leave much time. He wasn't worried, though; even if he went stag he would still be able to find someone to go home with at the end of the night. He always did.

_There's always Parkinson. She's been after me for years. She still owls me with invitations to America. No, I wouldn't want to encourage her; I get tired of the whining. Her voice is really annoying. Let's see, how about Bulstrode? She's become quite fetching since she started using those beauty spells. She's not beautiful, but she's lost a lot of weight, and she's not a total loss. _

He pressed his fingers to his throbbing temple and closed his eyes. His headache was probably a side effect of having to deal with such dismal students, anyway. A short nap was just what he needed to rejuvenate.

* * *

Hermione chewed nervously on her lower lip as she examined herself in the mirror. She turned left, then right, checking for any possible flaws in her appearance. The only one she saw was her hair, and it was the biggest flaw of all. Bushy and tangled, it looked as though it could easily take over a small country.

She sighed and picked up the book she'd bought on a last minute trip to Hogsmeade last weekend. The title read, "1001 Ways to Tame Your Unruly Hair." The spine was already creased, she'd opened it so many times. She thumbed through it until she reached the page she was looking for. She skimmed the list of spells under the section titled _"50 Ways to Flatten Your Hair."_

She took a deep breath and said a quick prayer. _"Composium!"_ Nothing happened. She sighed.

_"Reformio!"_ Again, nothing. She muttered unladylike words beneath her breath, wondering what had possessed her to even consider purchasing this ridiculous book.

_Third time's a charm,_ she thought acidly. _"Coiffurium Lineo!"_ A pink flash erupted from the tip of her wand, and she coughed in the smoke that lingered. She waved it away quickly to look in the mirror.

Her chestnut hair hung down her back, as straight as you please. She clapped her hands together happily, as she closed the book and shoved it deep into the recesses of her open dresser drawer. She picked up two dazzling purple barrettes and clipped them in her hair, pulling the sides away from her face. When she had finished applying her makeup, she examined herself one last time.

She had chosen her costume with great care. She was dressed as Cliodna, the Irish druidess, who became a bird in her animagus form. Hermione thought it only fitting, since she was also a bird in her animagus form. Cliodna was a woman that Hermione admired; she had discovered the properties of moondew. She also had three birds who could heal the sick. Hermione hadn't wanted to look after birds, so instead she had chosen a mask with white feathers on it, to look like a bird. She twirled around in a circle, and her gauzy white dress trailed the floor as she moved.

Golden sandals and jewelry added the finishing touches. A golden diadem rested lightly atop her head, and a matching armband encircled the upper part of her left arm. A delicate gold chain was wrapped around her slender ankle - it had been a gift from Ron two years ago for her birthday.

She took several deep breaths to soothe her ragged nerves. When she had forced her breathing back to its normal rhythm, she left her quarters and headed down to the Great Hall.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly as he watched Bellatrix Lestrange being escorted away in shackles by Ministry officials. She had appeared before the Wizengamot, and her sentence was to be carried out in the morning. He could barely contain himself; _finally_ she would be getting her just desserts.

She turned to give him one last hateful glare before she disappeared behind the door, and he could feel his lips curling in a very Malfoy-like smirk. _It's her own damned fault for stopping in that Muggle pub,_ he thought. _If she hadn't developed such an affinity for vodka, she might still be running from me. Maybe._

He chuckled to himself as he swept out of the courtroom. She had been very talkative during the trip back to the Ministry, telling him that he was the source of most of her nightmares. She'd chattered on endlessly until he'd put a Silencing Charm on her. He had laughed at length then - it had been very amusing to see her horrified face as she moved her mouth soundlessly.

All of her time on the run had deteriorated her mind even further than it had been when Voldemort lived. She hadn't needed to be very intelligent when she was running or hiding; she'd spent most of her time with the Dark Lord doing that, so it came almost instinctually. The marked difference in her had only created a woman who didn't know when to shut her mouth.

He disappeared with a loud _crack_, reapparating into the middle of a sidewalk in Hogsmeade. He walked until he found a shop with windows so dirty that it was impossible to see inside. A shrunken figure of a man approached him.

"Mister Potter! What can I do for you today?"

"Hello, Tantalus," Harry smiled. "I need some new clothes." The man glanced at Harry's tattered robes and nodded, clucking his tongue softly.

"Aye. That you do, Mister Potter. That you do. Did you have anything special in mind?"

"Well, the most pressing matter right now is to find a costume of sorts," Harry explained, feeling stupid. Tantalus raised his eyebrows.

"A costume? Heading to Hogwarts for the reunion, then?"

Harry's eyes widened slightly. "How do you know about that?"

"I've had several young men in here this afternoon to pick up their own costumes. I do, however, have one costume left. A young man ordered it and owled me to change his mind after I had already completed it." He went to the back of the store, then returned carrying a purple velvet robe with gold embroidery. The detail of the embroidery was magnificent.

"King Arthur," he murmured, reaching out to stroke the fabric reverently. Tantalus looked slightly surprised.

"You recognized it, then?" Harry nodded. "The young man who ordered it has no use for it now, so if you'd like it, it's yours." He produced a gold eye mask and a thin golden crown to go with the robe.

"It's perfect," he said, nodding. "I'll take it. How much?"

"I don't want your money, Mister Potter," Tantalus said gruffly, pushing Harry's outstretched hand away. "It will be an honor just to have you wear something I've made."

"Are you sure?" Harry took the costume and looked at the man.

"Positive. Go and have fun, and be sure to come back and tell me how it went." Harry shook the man's hand and smiled at him, before turning and leaving the store.

* * *

"Happy Halloween!" Ginny called brightly. Ron rolled his eyes.

"What's so happy about it?"

"Ron, you're going to see all of your friends again," she said, sticking out her lower lip in a mock pout. "Aren't you excited at _all?"_

"Well, I _would_ like to know what in the bloody hell Harry's been up to," he admitted, running a comb through his hair. Ginny peeked in the mirror that hung on the wall.

"You look lovely, dear," it praised. She smiled.

"Did you hear that?" she asked. Ron laughed.

"You know better than to believe any of the mirrors in this place," he said, shaking his head. "Mum has them all enchanted so they can't tell her when she looks like she's gained weight."

"Actually, _Ronald_," he turned quickly when he heard his mother enter the room. Her hands were on her hips, making her look even more formidable than usual. "I enchanted them so they couldn't say anything _negative."_ She moved farther into the room and smiled at her daughter.

"What do you think, Mum?" she asked, twirling. Her emerald green dress swirled around her, and she put her mask on. "Do you think anyone will recognize me?"

"Maybe if you didn't have the trademark Weasley red hair, they wouldn't," Ron muttered. "What are you, anyway? The Bird Lady of the Burrow?" Ginny plucked a pillow from the couch and lobbed it at his head, laughing.

"It's a _costume_ party, Ron, so I dressed up. See the feathers on my mask?" she asked, pointing towards her eyes. "I'm a peacock. What are _you_ supposed to be, as if it weren't _totally _obvious?"

"If it's totally obvious, then why are you asking, you twit?"

"Ronald!" Molly boomed. He sighed.

"Sorry, Gin. I just can't believe I'm taking my _sister_ as my date."

"Why didn't you ask Hermione?" Ginny asked curiously. "Did she already have a date, or something?"

It was all Ron could do not to laugh. _No, she didn't have a date. I just planned on bringing you and then ditching you once we get there, so you and Harry can be alone. If he comes, that is._ He smoothed out the violent orange jumper he was wearing, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"It _had_ to be the Cannons, didn't it?"

"They're my favorite team," he protested, checking to make sure he had all of the uniform in place.

"At least **_I_** picked a costume with a color that _compliments_ my hair."

"Have fun, you two," Molly said, trying not to laugh. Ginny hugged her, and Ron nodded, before disapparating with a loud _crack_.

Draco winced as he yanked the comb through his white-blonde hair. He'd wanted to slick it back as he always did, but for some reason, it didn't want to obey him tonight. Disgusted, he threw the comb down and went to the bathroom to wash the Sleekeazy's out of it. When he had finished washing it, the comb moved through it with ease. He left his hair down, hanging in damp waves around his shoulders. He smoothed out his crisp, white shirt and turned to the mirror.

"No one will be able to resist me," he said to himself. He grinned wickedly at the handsome reflection, certain that all of his old schoolmates would be floored when they saw him. He'd changed a great deal since his days as a student - freedom had done that for him. Ever since his father had been carted away to Azkaban, he'd had a lot more freedom to do whatever he wanted to do. He still didn't date witches that weren't pure blooded, but he spoke to them now. At least, when the mood struck him, anyway.

His chiseled features were considered by a great many witches to be perfection, and he had to admit that he quite agreed with them. His expression darkened. Only one witch had ever voiced a negative opinion about his looks - at least, to his face, anyway. He snorted as he pictured her bushy chestnut hair. _Like she has any reason to ridicule my hair, with the hair she's got._ Still, it nagged at him. He didn't like that _anyone_ would think he wasn't handsome.

His blood boiled at the thought of her. She'd snubbed him since he'd come to Hogwarts to teach, sitting on the opposite end of the staff table, and going out of her way to avoid him in the hallways. He'd tried being nasty to her. He'd tried being overly sweet to her. Nothing worked - her shell was damn near impenetrable. She'd never so much as cracked a smile at him.

_What the hell keeps her so damned serious all the time?_ He adjusted his crimson cape on his shoulders and fastened it around his neck. His mask was in place - a simple black eye mask that did nothing to cover the remarkably unique color of his eyes.

He'd been discussing vampires with a muggle-born witch he'd run into in Hogsmeade, and she'd been really fascinating when she'd explained the lore of Count Dracula to him. He'd chosen this costume for that reason. He was the muggle version of a vampire. His skin was already naturally pale enough to look the part, so he hadn't had to change much about his appearance at all. He snorted.

_Muggles and their ridiculous ideas of vampires._ He adjusted the fake plastic fangs that he'd purchased on a trip to muggle London, and grinned as he gave himself a final once-over in the mirror, before leaving his quarters in a flurry of his cape.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The Great Hall had been transformed into what appeared to be a dance club. At least it looked that way to Harry. He had to admit that he had been looking forward to seeing the school in its normal state; it made him feel as though he was coming home. Seeing it decorated with dim lights and decorations everywhere was oddly disappointing.

The costumes, on the other hand... Merlin, the costumes! He laughed softly as he looked around. If nothing else, it could not be said that his classmates were not extravagant when it came to parties. It seemed as though no expense had been spared in the choosing of costumes; he saw everything from Queens to - he blinked. Hard. Was that a _flobberworm?_

He shook his head, trying to clear the disturbing image of the costume from his mind, and made his way to the refreshment table, consciously steering clear of the dance floor. He surveyed the contents of the table, which were vast and widely varied, and finally chose a pumpkin pasty and a glass of punch. Just as he was lifting the glass to his lips, he saw someone in his peripheral vision and turned.

A Chudley Cannons player was walking in with a shapely peacock on his arm. Harry grinned broadly and sat the cup down on the table. He didn't know anyone else who was a big enough Cannons fan to wear such a costume. He waited until the peacock had become sufficiently distracted by accepting a dance from what appeared to be a werewolf (and a bad one at that, Harry thought), and made his way to the Quidditch player. Ron looked up in surprise.

"Couldn't find a costume that complimented your hair any better, eh?" Ron's eyes widened as Harry wrapped him in a brotherly embrace.

"Holy hell," he said, squinting through his mask at Harry. "So you showed up, after all! You pillock, I ought to maim you for not keeping in touch," he said affectionately.

"Didn't you recognize me?"

"Nope," Ron said, shaking his head. "I might have had a fighting chance if the light was brighter in here- your eyes would have given you away."

"Sorry about the whole not writing thing," he said, smiling apologetically. "My job requires a lot of traveling and secrecy, so I couldn't send messages unless I wanted to risk discovery."

"It's alright," Ron shrugged. "Hermione and I have been okay, but we've both missed you. But you're here now, and you're - you're-" Ron struggled, trying to guess Harry's costume.

"King Arthur," he said. Ron's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. Harry turned and watched the peacock Ron had come with twirling about on the dance floor. "Who's your date?"

"You're kidding, right?" Harry shook his head. "She's not my date. My date should be here any time now."

"Who is she, if she's not your date? And why would you come without your _real_ date? She's-" his voice broke off as the light glinted off of her copper hair, and a grin spread across his face. "You brought _Ginny?"_

"Yeah, felt bad for her," he lied, walking slowly with Harry to the refreshment table. He picked up a plastic cup full of crimson liquid. "A lot of her friends were in our year, and she wanted to see them. Not to mention that if I _hadn't_ brought her, Mum would have been the only one in the house with her tonight, boring her to tears." Harry laughed. "My real date is Mione, although I have no idea where she is."

"How has she been?" Harry asked, biting into a pumpkin pasty.

"She likes her job. It's hell trying to get her to leave the ruddy grounds," he grumbled. Harry arched an eyebrow.

"Are you two...?"

"No," Ron said quietly, shaking his head. "It's not because I don't want to, either, it's because of work." Harry raised both eyebrows this time, and Ron sighed. "All right, it's not _all_ because of work. I don't know that she'd want that sort of thing from me."

"But you want it from her?"

"Harry," Ron said, blinking at him. "Wait till you see her, and then you'll understand." Harry nodded, then looked around the room while Ron sulked quietly.

"Have you seen the flobberworm?" he asked, laughing and pointing. Ron craned his neck to get a better look, and he snorted loudly.

"Merlin, at least my costume is presentable," he laughed, shaking his head.

"Dressing as a _Cannons_ player is presentable?" Harry and Ron both turned to see a slender figure clad in white with her hands on her hips. Harry's jaw dropped and Ron grinned, his whole face lighting up.

"You made it," he said happily. She nodded and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek.

"I wouldn't leave my best friend hanging, would I?" She turned and looked at the figure Ron was standing with, taking in his regal garb. "Are you going to introduce me to King Arthur?"

"How'd you guess?" Ron asked, surprised. She shrugged.

"It isn't difficult to tell," she said matter-of-factly. "Look at the gilt embroidery on his robe- it's reminiscent of the time period."

"Only _you_ would have known right off," Ron said, wondering why Harry hadn't spoken yet and revealed himself.

"Well?" she asked, tapping a foot impatiently.

"Oh!" he shook his head, trying to clear the scent of her that was invading his nostrils and threatening to render him entirely senseless. "Your highness, this is Cliodna." Harry bent and took her hand in his, dropping a formal kiss on the back of her hand. He could tell that she was blushing, even in the dim light of the room.

"Seriously," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Who are you?"

"The ghost of Christmas past," he laughed. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open.

"Is it- are you-" he lifted his mask and winked at her, then replaced it. She let out a loud squeal and launched herself at him, squeezing his neck so tightly that he thought she might strangle him. "Oh, sweet Merlin, Harry! I missed you! Never, _ever_, leave us for that long again!" Tears threatened and he dislodged himself, unable to stop smiling.

"I was just apologizing to Ron for not writing, so I suppose I owe you an apology, too - I'll tell you I'm sorry when I can breathe properly again." Ron laughed, and Hermione blushed. "It's good to be back. I've missed you both more than you know."

"We've missed you as well, Harry," she said, smiling. A soft melody filled the air, and Ron turned to her.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, extending his hand. Harry noticed that he was trembling, even if Hermione didn't. She curtseyed to Harry, then took Ron's hand and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor. Harry grinned stupidly after them.

"You know," a soft voice came from behind him. He turned quickly to see Ginny staring out at her brother. "You've been gone for a while, and here you are in the middle of a throng of people, with complete anonymity. You're not taking nearly enough advantage of it."

"You're looking well," he said quietly, masking the surprise he felt at the fact that she seemed to know who he was. She smiled coyly at him.

"As are you, My Lord," she said, curtseying. He laughed.

"Perhaps I should dress like this all the time," he teased. "I've already gotten the attention of two of the prettiest girls in the room. Who knows? Maybe it'll work outside a costume party as well." She laughed, although her heart fluttered wildly at the fact that he'd just called her pretty.

"So, how has life been treating you?" she asked, reaching around him to grab a pumpkin pasty. He watched as she nibbled at it and stared out across the dance floor.

"Same as ever," he said, shrugging. "How about you? Been up to anything exciting in the last few years?"

"I don't know that you'd call it exciting, but it _is_ fun," she smiled. "I've been working with Fred and George at the joke shop."

"And you're still alive and unscathed enough to tell the tale?" his voice was full of admiration, and she giggled.

"I don't know that I'd say unscathed," she shook her head. "I've been doing lots of things for them. Bookkeeping, market research, checking up on competitors, that sort of thing."

"Does it pay well?"

"Extremely well," she nodded. "So well, in fact, that I have had my own home for two years now." He looked impressed.

"Why did Ron tell me you'd be with your Mum tonight then?"

"Mum doesn't like to be alone in that big house. Dad went to visit Charlie, and she asked me to stay with her while he's gone. She made an exception when Ron mentioned bringing me here." The slow music faded and a thumping beat took its place.

"Ah, I've missed my window," he lamented, his eyes glinting mischievously behind his mask. He saw the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile.

"I'd say you missed it when my brother asked her to dance," she quipped, shoving the remainder of the pumpkin pasty into her mouth unceremoniously. He grinned.

"Hmm," was all he said. Ron and Hermione continued dancing, and she laughed, covering her face with her hands. He watched her peek at them from between her fingers.

"Well," she shrugged as he laughed. "No one ever said Ron could dance."

"Hermione doesn't seem to mind," he pointed out. She attempted to give him a stern look, but the peacock feathers were making it exceedingly difficult for him to take her seriously.

"That's because she's flailing around just as badly as he is."

"So you just came to stand around all night? Why aren't you dancing with your mysterious lycanthropic friend?" He could see her cheeks darken.

"He's not mysterious at all," she said, shaking her head. "I know exactly who he is."

"And?" he prompted.

"A friend," was all she would say. He stared at her until she returned his look. "Why aren't _you_ out there, savoring the moment with a mysterious, exotic costumed woman?"

"That's funny, I thought I _was_." She bit her bottom lip. "Want to dance?"

"I'm as bad as Ron," she said, laughing. "Worse, even."

"I'll take my chances." She laughed harder and took the hand he proffered, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Draco lounged casually against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. Cool silver eyes surveyed the room, taking in all of the livery. He hadn't been here long enough to observe yet, and he wanted to do some people watching before he did any mingling or dancing. He hadn't recognized anyone yet, but he was positive that he would.

He turned to his left to see a curtain of copper hair swinging around a feathered mask, and arched an eyebrow beneath his own mask. Her body was decent enough, but the hair was a turnoff. He'd never be able to look at the Weasley red without thinking of her brother, and he didn't like thinking about other men in conjunction with a woman he was looking to seduce.

Ginny Weasley was officially off limits.

His eyes wandered to a bright orange figure twirling a more slender figure in circles, and his eyes widened slightly. The snowy garment clung to her hips, although it was loose everywhere else, and she looked very much like a Goddess. When the couple turned, he got a glimpse of red hair, and realized that it must be yet _another _Weasley. He snorted. It seemed that there were enough Weasleys in existence to stage a small hostile takeover of the reunion, if they so chose.

It was only moments later that he realized that the woman Weasley was with had to be Granger. He eyed her appreciatively, wondering why she would keep a body like that under shapeless robes all day. He turned his eyes back to the female Weasley, and took in her date. Something about the man made the hair on the back of Draco's neck stand on end. Before he could get a better look, however, a woman with long, silvery hair stopped in front of him and blocked his line of sight.

"Want to dance?" she asked, her melodic voice washing over him. He blinked, silently appraising her. Her body was admirable; she was wearing a top that looked like nothing more than a brassiere with gauzy sleeves attached. Her tanned midriff was bared, with her gauzy pants beginning just below her navel, and she was barefoot. Pale pink nail polish was on her finger and toenails. Her eyes were visible just over the piece of fabric that covered her nose and mouth.

Something about her eyes was so familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

He nodded and took her hand, allowing her to lead him out onto the dance floor. A slow song began, and he automatically wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against him. She rested her hands lightly on his shoulders, and he could tell by the way the corners of her eyes turned up that she was smiling.

He waited for her to speak again, so he could try and place her voice, but she remained silent. He didn't want to speak and give himself away, but he was getting impatient. She seemed content not to speak at all, and rested her head against his shoulder while they swayed to the music. When it was over, she dropped a quick curtsey to him, and made to walk away, but he reached out and grabbed her arm, effectively spinning her back around to face him.

"Who are you?"

"Why, Draco," she said, surprise evident in her voice. "I thought you _knew_ who I was." He blinked. So she'd known who he was when she'd asked him to dance.

"How did you know who I was?"

"No one else in the free world has eyes like yours," she said softly. His lips turned up in a smile.

"Don't they? Not even in America?" Her eyes widened, then she laughed.

"I gave myself away, didn't I?" she asked. "I was never very good at keeping compliments to myself." He put his hand on her elbow and guided her towards a table, pulling out a chair for her. She sat down, and he took the chair next to hers.

"How's life been?" he asked pleasantly.

"Decent. It's been pretty good, actually," she admitted, nodding. "Look, I wanted to apologize to you about all of those owls I sent, asking you to come and see me. I was really lonely, and I just wanted a familiar face nearby."

"What did you do to your voice?" he blurted. "It used to be really nasal and whiny."

"I took up smoking while I was in America," she said, giving him a wry smile. "I've quit now, but I'm afraid it changed my voice. Deeper than it used to be, but hopefully it doesn't sound as bad as it used to."

Draco didn't say it, but he thought it was a vast improvement. She sounded almost sexy now - what with the deeper voice and her slight American accent.

"Doesn't bother me," he said coolly. She eyed him thoughtfully, then turned to look back out across the dance floor.

"Did you see Potter?" she pointed to a regally garbed man swirling around with the Weasley girl, and Draco sniggered.

"A _King?_ Does Saint Potter really still have that high an opinion of himself, after all these years?"

"I heard that he caught Bellatrix LeStrange," she murmured. Draco turned to look at her, and was surprised at the stab of jealousy he felt, watching Pansy watch Potter. There was a strange look in her eyes that felt foreign to see not directed at him. He cleared his throat, and she turned back to him.

"Who cares about Scarhead? Tell me more about you." She laughed softly and shook her head.

"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell. I've been-" she stopped talking abruptly when a werewolf approached their table and extended his paw.

"Care to dance?" his voice was gruff, and Draco could tell immediately that he'd used a charm to change it. He looked from the werewolf to Pansy, and was surprised to see her blushing beneath the fabric of her mask. She nodded and slipped her hand into his, throwing Draco an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she went.

Draco leaned back in his chair and sulked.

* * *

"I warned you that I wasn't a very good dancer," Ginny laughed. Harry was sitting with his trampled foot propped up on the table. He grinned at her.

"Doesn't bother me," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "You were pretty good until you decided to do Swan Lake on my toes." She covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a giggle.

"Thank my Mum," she said, reaching for a glass of punch on the table. "She's the one who pulled me out of dance classes when I was seven."

"Ah, too talented for the world of ballet?"

"Something like that," she nodded, smiling. He watched her drink and contemplated all of the changes that time had wrought in both of them. They were both more confident and more relaxed around each other. He was totally at ease, which was something he hadn't been since he'd left Hogwarts. "Knut for your thoughts," she said finally, raising her eyes to his. He grinned.

"I was just thinking about you," he said honestly. She blushed but held his gaze.

"Good thoughts, I hope. Or at least, nothing _too_ bad, considering I may have just put you out of commission for the rest of the night. Oh, won't all of the other ladies be sore at me," she sighed melodramatically. He laughed.

"I don't see any swooning or anything," he said, looking around pointedly.

"Well, just because you don't see something doesn't mean it isn't there, Harry Potter," she pointed out. His smile faded and he stared intently at her. He wondered if perhaps she was making a reference to his not noticing her during his Hogwarts days. "Besides, I think that Little Red Riding Hood over there looks a bit out of sorts." He craned his neck to look.

"D'you reckon she knows the Big Bad Wolf is here?"

"We really ought to introduce them, wouldn't you say?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Ah, you'd have to do it alone, I'm afraid," he sighed. She laughed and threw a napkin at him. "You see, I was dancing with the most lovely peacock a few moments ago, and she managed to maim me, so I am stuck here, immobile."

"Do they teach you flattery in Auror training?" she winked. "Is that how you get prisoners to come with you, by using your natural charm?"

"Do you think I'm charming?" he arched an eyebrow at her.

"More importantly, do _you_ think you're charming?" He laughed.

"It's good to see that you two are getting along so well," Hermione breathed, flopping gracelessly into a chair beside Ginny. Ron sat next to her and grinned at Harry as she fanned herself with her hand.

"There was never a time when we _didn't_ get along," Ginny said, shrugging.

"Yes, but -" Hermione was cut off when Ron stomped her foot under the table. She let out a yelp and hugged her knee to her chest to inspect her wounded foot. "Ron!"

"What is it about Weasleys and injuring the feet of their dance partners?" Harry asked, his eyes twinkling. Ginny rolled her eyes but laughed.

"Maybe if we had decent partners," she began. Hermione snickered.

"I didn't see anything wrong with _Harry's_ dancing," she said, removing her sandal to massage her foot. Ron sighed noisily and motioned for her to put her foot in his lap. She hesitated, then extended her leg. The snowy white of her gown fell away to reveal a slender leg, and she rested her heel lightly on his knee. He began to massage her foot gently, and she sighed. "Oh, that's _nice."_

Harry covered his grin with a cough. Ginny quickly averted her eyes. Ron's ears turned scarlet.

"Why don't the two of you go and have another dance?" Ron suggested, his voice breaking. Harry laughed.

"Well, I _would,_ but I'm nursing an injured foot. Some cow on the dance floor trampled it." Ginny guffawed and smacked playfully at him.

"Cow, indeed!" she huffed good-naturedly. "Well, you might be stuck here, Harry, but my feet work just fine. I'm going to go and ask that flobberworm for a dance." Hermione bit her lip to hold her laughter in. Harry's jaw dropped slightly.

"Surely you jest? You wouldn't leave the man you wounded here to watch you run off and wound someone else?"

"And with a flobberworm, no less?" Ron laughed.

"It's very rude to leave your date, Ginny," Hermione said, matter-of-factly. Ginny gave her an odd look.

"So you're saying I should stay with Ron, then?" she asked. "Because you know that Ron is _my_ date, don't you?"

"Here, now," Harry interjected, his cheeks pink. "Ron with two dates?"

"Care to take one off my hands there, mate?"

"Sure, I'll take Hermione. We can be injured together," he teased. He watched as Hermione's cheeks flushed and Ron sputtered indignantly. "Fine," he sighed, as though he was put out. "I suppose I'll take Ginny off of your hands, then."

"And if I don't want to trade dates?" she asked, her voice thick with amusement. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Then I suppose I'll have to stop faking my injury and throw you over my shoulder, like a cave-man."

"But you're not dressed for the part," she paused, then burst out laughing. "Faking your injury? Oi, Potter, you are _so_ melodramatic!"

"How else was I supposed to get you alone, fawning over me, I ask you? Your pillock of a brother ruined it for me, you know. I was getting plenty of attention until he and his secondary date came over here and mucked it up but good." She laughed again.

"Well, why don't we go mingle, or something?" she suggested, standing. He stood and winked at Hermione, who giggled and blushed.

"As long as we don't have to dance again - my poor feet have been abused enough."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Draco was growing increasingly agitated, watching the werewolf spin Pansy around the floor. He didn't know what made him angrier- the fact that she'd accepted a dance with someone else in the middle of their conversation, or the fact that she was dancing with someone who wasn't _him_. He stood abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor as he did, and made his way onto the dance floor. He tapped the werewolf on the shoulder.

"May I cut in?" he asked, his polite tone sounding forced. The werewolf shrugged, dropped a kiss on the back of Pansy's hand, and began making his way towards the refreshment table. Pansy blinked in surprise as Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and began twirling her around with him.

"It was very rude of you to accept a dance with someone else while you were in the middle of a conversation with me, you know," he informed her. She gave him a small smile even as her cheeks turned crimson.

"Why, Draco," she said, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "If I didn't know that it wasn't possible, I'd think you were _jealous_." He took her hand and led her to the refreshment table.

"Malfoys don't get jealous," he drawled coolly, handing her a plastic cup of amber liquid. "But we _do_ always get what we want." She arched an eyebrow at him as she lifted the cup to her lips.

"And what happens if you want something, but you _don't_ get it?" she sipped at the sweet liquid. He eyed her thoughtfully.

"That's never happened before."

"It could."

"It won't." The corners of her lips turned up, but she turned her head before he could see her knowing smile.

* * *

"So this is your idea of mingling?" Harry asked, fighting back a smile. Ginny shrugged. They had been walking outside of the castle ever since the flobberworm (who had turned out to be Terry Boot) had assaulted her in his attempt at asking her to dance.

"I had to get away after Boot the flobberworm groped me," she said, pulling a face at him. He laughed. "I may be scarred for life, you know."

"Somehow I doubt that," he said, the laughter still in his voice. "There's no way you're going to get me to believe that you haven't been through worse with Fred and George."

"True," she said, grinning. "And wouldn't they be ashamed of me that I was put off by a _flobberworm_, of all things?"

"Frankly, I'm embarrassed, myself," he said. She glanced at him and burst into giggles when she saw his mock-ashamed face, and he stepped away from her as he walked. "Can't have anyone thinking I'm interested in the _cowardly _Weasley, can I?"

"You'd better hope that if you _are_ interested in one of the Weasleys that _I'm_ the one you're interested in - otherwise you'd have problems. Besides, half of the female population of the Wizarding world would probably enter into convents, or something."

"And why is that?" he chuckled, stepping closer to her again.

"If you didn't like girls," she pointed out. "And I know I'm being positively cheeky, assuming that you _do_, since you've been away so long that I realize I don't know anything about you anymore."

"You think that my being gone has turned me into a poofter?" he asked, surprised. She laughed. "I assure you, solitary confinement has not turned me away from women."

"Right," she teased, nodding. He stopped walking, and she turned to face him.

"Do you _really_ think I prefer men?" he asked, his face clouding over. She blinked.

"Harry," she took a step towards him and put her hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I was just kidding."

"No, you really believe it, I can tell." He frowned.

"I don't," she protested. Then, "You _don't_ prefer men, do you?" He raised his eyebrows at her. Without warning, he reached forward and cupped her cheeks in his hands, then brushed his lips against hers. She was so surprised that she didn't even get the chance to kiss him back before he pulled away and gave her a triumphant look.

"Did that feel like I prefer men?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. She took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm her rapidly beating heart, then met his eye.

"Well, I wouldn't know," she said, tapping her chin with her forefinger. "It was over too quickly. But now that you mention it, it sort of reminded me of the kiss I got once from Dean Thomas, and you know he turned out to -" Harry cut her off by pressing his lips against hers again, this time with more pressure.

She was struggling to maintain control of the situation, but it was difficult to hang on to her composure as it sank in that Harry Potter, the object of her unrequited affections for years, was standing here in the moonlight with her, kissing her. His warm hands touched her bare shoulders, eliciting a tiny shiver from her.

He lifted one of his hands to touch the side of her face, and his thumb gently stroked the smoothness of her cheek. When he pulled away, she was breathless and wide-eyed. It hadn't been an open-mouthed kiss, but that hadn't made it any less intense for her. He stared at her for a moment before cracking a grin.

"You're too gullible," he laughed. She blinked at him.

"What?"

"You're too gullible," he repeated, reaching for her hand. "I thought you'd be more alert than that. You let me trick you into kissing me." He threaded his fingers through hers and they began walking again.

"And who says it wasn't me doing the tricking?" she asked, recovering quickly from her initial shock.

"You think you tricked me?" he laughed.

"Didn't I?" she teased, arching an eyebrow. "I called into question your sexual orientation. You were obligated to defend yourself. And let's not forget who brought Dean Thomas' name up." She giggled at the look on his face.

"Okay, you win," he said, throwing his free hand up in the air. "But you have to admit, you _did_ give me the perfect opening for kissing you."

"On purpose," she lied. He grinned.

"Whatever you say, Gin."

* * *

"Ron, I really don't feel like another dance right now," Hermione said forcibly, effectively ending the redhead's pleading. "My feet are killing me. I just wish we could find Harry and Ginny, because after I talk to them one more time, I think I'm going to call it a night."

"Mione!" he whined, throwing his hands up in the air. "We have to at least stay and watch to see who wins the costume contest!" She rolled her eyes.

"And why would we want to see that? Do you think you've got a shot at winning, or something?"

"I've got just as good a chance as anyone else here has," he said defensively, his chest puffing up a bit. She laughed.

"Oh, all right," she said, shaking her head. "But if I'm too tired for our date this weekend, you'll know why." His face fell. Ever since Harry had left them, they had had weekly chats, whether through floo or in person. Ron had to admit that the floo chats were becoming more frequent than the physical visits, due in large part to Hermione's reluctance to leave the castle.

"You can't be too tired, because this week I'm taking you out," he proffered weakly. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Taking me out where? I thought we were having another floo visit."

"Hermione," he said seriously, reaching across the table for her hand. "You can't keep yourself locked away at Hogwarts all the time. It's not healthy. You need to get out more." Hermione found her eyes locked on his hand, which was covering hers loosely.

"I don't like going out, Ron. You know that." Had his thumb just brushed across her knuckles?

"But there are so many things we need to do," he explained, his eyes lighting up with excitement. He paused for a moment, and his face fell slightly. "Would you go if Harry did?" Her eyes snapped up to meet his, but he was staring hard at the tabletop.

"Ron," she chastised gently. He braved a look at her. "If you really want me to go, I'll go. There's no need to drag Harry along." The grin he gave her could have easily melted silver, and her heart lurched crazily inside her chest.

"You'll go then?"

"Of course," she said. She pushed away all of the reasons she had recited to herself last weekend (and over the last several years, if she wanted to be honest with herself) as to why she should _not_ fall in love with her best friend. It was completely impossible to remember those reasons when he was sitting there, smiling at her like that. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, first I thought we'd take a walk." _He's been my best friend since I was eleven._

"Then I thought we could stop off for some light dinner." _He has a really nasty temper, although most of the time it's not directed at me..._

"After that, maybe we could go get some coffee or ice cream." _He knows me too well. He knows exactly what I do and don't like, and he always makes sure I'm taken care of, doesn't he?_

"And then a movie?" _He's always checking on me to make sure I'm all right, and he's always the one who listens to me when I cry. He's even given up dating to be with me. _

Hermione felt as though someone had struck her, and her eyes widened as she looked at him. He blinked, and his smile faded. "Or would you rather see the movie first?" he asked nervously, shifting under her gaze.

"Ron," she said breathlessly.

"No movie?" he squeaked, his ears turning scarlet.

"Ron." Why hadn't she seen it sooner?

"Yes?"

"Shut up and kiss me."


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"So, shall we go back inside and see what your brother and our best friend have gotten up to?" Harry shot her a conspiratorial grin.

"I have the strangest feeling, Potter. Almost as though you didn't bring me out here to be alone with me, but to leave my brother alone, to his own devices. You should know if that's the case that where my brother is concerned, Murphy's law reigns supreme." Harry chuckled.

"Is that so?" his thumb caressed the knuckles of the hand he was holding, and goosebumps arose on her skin. "I think Ron has waited long enough. He'll make his move tonight."

"Want to place a wager on that?" her self-assured smirk was irresistible.

"Absolutely," he said, nodding. "What exactly are we wagering?"

"Hmm, maybe this was a bad idea, after all," she mused aloud, her tone teasing. "It's not fair to take advantage of you, what with you being gone for so long."

"Take advantage of me?" he echoed, laughing. "Oh, you are confident, aren't you?"

"Perhaps, but if I am, it's because I have reason to be." She grinned wickedly at him.

"Stakes?"

"You suggest something first. What is it that you want from me?" She tapped her finger against her chin while she thought.

"The loser has to clean the winner's house for an entire week," she offered. He arched an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"Gin, you _do_ remember where I live, and the fact that I've been gone for four years, right? No one has stepped foot in that house to clean it in all that time." She frowned.

"Oh. Right," she nodded. "All right, then, you think of something."

"Loser spends the rest of the night being the winner's slave," he suggested, a twinkle in his eyes. She blinked, and a slow smile appeared on her face.

"Why, that's hardly a punishment," she laughed. "To spend all of that time in each others' company?" He grinned.

"I'm glad you feel that way, since you're going to be serving out your sentence at my house." She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I thought you just said that your house hadn't been cleaned in four years," she pointed out. His grin turned wicked.

"I lied," he admitted. "I just didn't relish the thought of cleaning the Burrow." She rolled her eyes.

"I was thinking more along the lines of my _own_ home when I suggested that, not my mother's house," she laughed.

"Oh," he looked sheepish. "I forgot about that."

"That's okay. I rather like the idea of having a slave," she mused aloud. "_Mistress Weasley _has a certain ring to it, you know."

"So cocky," he laughed, reaching for her hand. "What are you going to do if you have to call me Master Harry?"

"You won't have to worry about that, because it isn't going to happen."

* * *

"W-what?" Ron stammered, surprised.

"Quit talking, and – oh, sod it all," she said, throwing her hands up in the air. She reached forward and grabbed a handful of his jumper, then pulled hard. He was forced closer to her, his eyes wide as she pressed her lips against his. Several moments later she released him and pulled away slightly, staring breathlessly at him.

A split second later, he leaned forward and plunged his hands into her hair, crushing his lips against hers.

"Looks like I've got myself a slave for the evening," Harry laughed, poking Ginny's side. They had just passed through the doors of the Great Hall when they'd seen Ron pull Hermione into a heated kiss. Ginny sighed.

"Leave it to Ron to grow a pair the one time I have a bet riding on him," she lamented. Harry gave her a sideways glance.

"Do you want to cancel the bet?"

"Harry Potter, how could you even _suggest_ such a thing? Absolutely not!" she looked scandalized. "A Weasley never goes back on a bet!"

"All right," he nodded solemnly. "Then I shall expect complete compliance and subservience from you for the rest of the night." She nodded and stuck her chin out. "First order of business – I need to dance again. I love this song." She laughed and dropped a curtsey to him.

"Right away, Master Harry."

* * *

Pansy returned to Draco's table looking flushed and happy. He drained his glass of punch and rose from his seat. "Let's get out of here," he said, holding his hand out to her.

"Where are we going?" she asked, putting her hand in his. He led her towards the front doors quickly, as though afraid that the werewolf might come back and try to whisk her away again.

"To my quarters, away from all of this noise, to relax and have a cup of chocolate." He sidestepped a kneazle's tail.

"What about my date?" she asked. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at her.

"I don't bloody well care if you came with an entire Quidditch team – you're _leaving_ with _me."_

* * *

Ron pulled away and stared at Hermione, although he didn't remove his hands from her hair. His thumb was gently stroking the side of her face as she returned his stare, breathless.

"Wow," he whispered. She nodded.

"Wow," she agreed. He dropped a light kiss on her lips, then gave her a small smile.

"I never thought – I mean, not in a hundred years, I didn't think you'd ever kiss me like that. Especially not when you realized that I … that I care about you."

"I'd be stupid not to," she reasoned, her voice trembling. "I'd be passing up everything I've ever wanted. A best friend and a …" she blushed, then cleared her throat. "A best friend and a lover all in one." His eyes widened slightly, but he nodded.

"You're not doing this because you feel sorry for me, are you?" he asked suddenly, his face clouding over. She shook her head quickly.

"Absolutely not," she breathed. "I feel incredibly stupid, Ron. I should have noticed earlier."

"I thought maybe you _had_ noticed and just decided to ignore it," he said miserably. "You know the old adage, 'Ignore it and it'll go away?'" Her jaw dropped slightly.

"Ron, I would _never-"_

"I know," he cut her off. "I know you wouldn't, Mione."

"Ron?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to leave? Maybe we could go back to my quarters, or to…" she blushed again. "Or to your flat?" She was surprised when he leapt out of his chair and helped her up.

"Let's go." He pretended not to see her startled look, and smiled to himself. Hermione had finally come around, and he was _not_ about to let her get away.

* * *

"This is an interesting piece," Pansy mused thoughtfully. She was eyeing one of the paintings on Draco's wall critically, inspecting every brush stroke. She turned to him.

"How much did you pay for this one? It's exceptional."

"I didn't pay anything for it," he drawled, lifting the cup of chocolate to his lips. She turned back to the picture and rolled her eyes at it. He probably knows the artist or the art dealer, and got it for free, she thought. How very like a Malfoy to use his influence to get what he wants, instead of working for it, like everyone else.

"Did someone give it to you?" she asked, turning back to him. He shook his head and licked the chocolate off of his lip.

"Didn't need to," he said, sitting his cup down. "I painted it." He stared at her when a snort of disbelief escaped her. "What's so funny about that?"

"Draco, quit funning. Really, how did you get it?" He rose from his seat and removed the cape he'd been wearing.

"I told you, I painted it." She kept waiting for him to crack a smile, but he never did. Her mouth fell open.

"You really did this?" she turned back to it, examining it again. "But it's _lovely!_ And since when do you paint?"

"I've been dabbling in it off and on for a few years now," he said, draping the cape on the back of an armchair and moving to stand beside her. "I had some bad luck when I first started, and kept throwing unfinished paintings away. There was something about this one, though, that merited keeping."

"I would have to agree," she said, turning to face him. He turned his slate eyes to her and stared. "You're turning out to be quite the surprise, Draco Malfoy," she said admiringly.

"Is that so?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. She nodded.

"Indeed."

"And that's a good thing, I expect?" his eyes fell on her lips, and the blood rushed from her head.

"Definitely good," she whispered, watching his face come nearer. She closed her eyes just as his lips descended on hers.


End file.
